Silhouettes Fall
by Erase Him in the White Silk
Summary: Laura visits Harold during winter.


~o~O~o~  
Pour life into me and I shall live as before when our bodies touched  
_\- E.M. Forster, Dr. Woolacott_  
O  
_Someday I'll follow you_  
_And see you on the other side_  
_\- Billy Corgan, For Martha_  
~o~O~o~

* * *

The violence in the sound of a car door closing shut resounded in Laura's ears long after the action had completed behind her. Contending with the sound, she closed her eyes and in her created darkness was calmed until her steps were taken from her as she slid on a thin layer of ice covering the walkway.

Steadying herself, she noticed that a distorted line of grey appeared as though a river between the hardened builds of ice and snow leading to the Tremond residence. No one, however, had bothered to clear a path to the second small house within the same lot. Those responsible for the clearing knew that the man inside did not come out and rarely received visitors, so it was next to unnecessary - a waste - to spend time removing his snow. Knowing this without having to be told made Laura disquieted, sad, but at the same time eager to see Harold.

He was always happy to see her.

Laura repositioned the bag of groceries in her arms before knocking against the cold glass of his apartment door.

Waiting, she took in the scene she found herself a part of; snow was making the sky overhead a sheet of white, its descending flakes gathered as dust on the contents of the paper bag in her grasp. The morning was cold as she breathed it in, as its ice-like wind reached her face. Broken and edgeless clouds paced above; their sister pattern seen in the haze of the falls outside The Great Northern.

With a sharp turn she faced the nearest window, anticipating some sudden sign of life behind swaying blinds, but there was no movement, no sound.  
In the past she had discovered she could at times hear, from beneath the door and blue frames of Harold's apartment, soft music emanating in league with the wind and chill of night. It made her as she approached feel even more alone than she had before she'd set out. Thankfully, this visit was made without any such feeling, as in the light of day no music could be heard escaping.

Shifting her weight she knocked again, soon hearing his approaching footsteps, the floorboards softly creaking as his weight passed over them. The door opened, framing Harold, his confused face. Warmth exuded from within, bringing with it the sharpness of a room infused with Epsom salt.

"Laura, I wasn't expecting you," he murmured pleasantly, quickly swallowing the fruit he'd been eating.

"You didn't even check to see who it was before you opened the door, Harold," Laura said, teasing him as she stepped inside, "that's so unlike you."  
Harold in reflection looked to his crossed hands. "I could sense that it was you."

He took the bag from her arms as she entered, placing it on a table by the door where a halved peach rested on white china. As Laura filtered to the soul of the house, Harold briefly inspected what he'd been given, lifting partially from brown confines the thin box of a frozen dinner.

"I heard on the radio that we're really supposed to get dumped on tonight... So I brought some extra groceries just in case," Laura explained.  
In a shallow breath Harold mouthed his reply then realized he should fully make known his sentiments. "That was very thoughtful of you, Laura. Thank you."

Excited to see her, Harold, in slow, hulking movements, wrapped his arms around her wool covered waist and shoulders, feeling flakes of snow melt on his bare arms. "Oh, brrr, you're so cold." Framing the edges of his words was a sort of breathless laughter.

Laura returned his embrace, moving quickly to his ear, she whispered a few lines from the top of her mind. While still in her arms Harold's gaze darted over the room. Backing away, self-conscious, he shivered and brushed his hands over forearms, warming himself.

Strangely pleased by his trepidation, Laura smiled as she removed her coat, draping it over the armrest of a chair near the bookshelf, leaving her standing in a casual white cotton dress and sweater. "God, I can't stay too long," she exclaimed with a sigh, "I don't know how bad it's going to get."

Disappointed, Harold dug a nail into the tip of a finger. Moving to the blinds, he strained to see what the future might bring, free hand to his chest, immersed. Vacantly seeing orbs of white as they flew past his leaning outline and grave features, Laura asked, "When was the last time you were out in the snow?"

"Me?" Harold repeated, letting go the blinds and pointing to himself. "Oh well, it's been quite some time." He said this knowing that nothing had changed since he was last lost among drifts. His memories, in this case, were enough; those of walking between buildings in the wake of a storm, pulling closer his coat collar as wind hit his face. His fingers numb despite gloves. "There isn't much to tell. I'd rather hear about your day, Laura, especially since you can't stay long."

Laura rubbed her lips together in a sneaky grin before curiously searching his raised hands, which were covered in dark powder. He looked also to his hands, gesturing with the tilt of his head, a hand motioning limply behind his shoulder by means of explanation.

"You were watering your plants when I knocked, weren't you?" Laura ventured to guess. Without need of an answer she moved quickly to the room of glass. Opening the door, she stepped inside. Backing her eyes were the dark lights of mischief and remorse. "Let me help you. We can talk in here."

"Oh...," He uttered, words lost to him, his hands moved awkwardly to try to make up for their absence.

"Come on, let's go. Or do you not trust me?"

Mouth dry, he nodded. He trusted her. And acting on this trust he followed, halting only once he was beside her still form. Before the interruption of her knock, Harold had moved a few orchids and cacti from their normal resting places to the sink countertop to make ready for watering.  
With the edge of the counter pushing into her stomach, Laura considered her lined options before selecting an orchid whose body was a fusion of greens and pinks. "I like this one. And I know how to water it, you showed me before." Laura raised the plant to Harold's beaming face.

"A Lady Slipper. Yes."

Laura quickly became a profile as she devoted herself to the roots of the plant. "I'll do just this one, okay? Because I don't want to mess up."

"You won't 'mess up', Laura."

She exposed her teeth in a laugh at herself. An elaborated response she did not wish to share. Laura moved on to other things. "I'm afraid the story's not going to be very exciting tonight."

"I'm sure that isn't the case. I'd love to hear whatever you'd like to tell me."

"Okay," Laura replied, sighing, "well, as you should know by now, most of the guys that go to One-Eyed Jack's are as sleazy as the place itself... but I have fun playing with the ones who will let me." She shrugged, as though she were alone and the only one available to comment. Laura paused as she let water drain from the orchid then placed the dampened plant on a shelf.

She moved to the wall in a corner close to him, her arms crossed, leaning. Recounting the past her gaze fell on crowded shelves and to the rafters above; to the tiny webs forming in places Harold couldn't reach.

"When they're so tense I can feel it, I brush my fingers over their belly, being careful not to touch anywhere else as my hand goes over them... I love to feel them shiver."

She toyed with the idea that by placing her hand over an area she deemed to be without sin and retrieving with a kiss the concomitant gasps, she was be able to take into herself the goodness of her subject. Swearing she could feel their essences enter her body in soft rasps, like ghosts.

Lost, Laura placed a hand over the skin of her chest, as if over a cell housed under flesh. Her view was of Harold's back, but she noticed the way he paused to catch her words like breaths, lingering in some cases to absorb or to release them.

In the memories she gifted him with Harold saw her as she stood before him reciting her past, fixed on how deeply she was able to delve into the echos she could never fully live again. He saw beyond what she wanted him to see, or to feel - though she would often leave him with the difficulty of recovering from the devastation of her life. By thriving despite the decay of men, she was to him, his heart, a burning ember in in a sea of ash.  
After a pause Laura noticed that he was away as well and playfully asked, "What are you thinking, Harold?"

He was brought back. "Nothing. Please, continue."

"Come on, Harold...,"

"I'm happy to see you, that's all."

"Why?"

"Because I like you. I-"

"Yeah, who am I, Harold?" She interrupted. "You're thinking of another Laura."

"No," Harold softly assured her, his hands going over her sleeves as though to press the meaning of his words. "But no matter what, I care about you, Laura."

Laura in a low tone hummed as her emotions oddly, sporadically, faded. Acting as though seconds ago she had not heard him, she moved her hold to suspenders, pushing her hands under their elastic. "If you're worried, I want you to know that I would never, ever steal anything from you." Her voice left her throat in a deepened laugh, her eyes, however, created the setting for another mood.

With a kiss she seized his shock and as a plume of smoke she drew from it, like a vampire to his involuntary reaction. In shock, he was drawn into the moment, into Laura, but as a cord the pull soon snapped.

When she withdrew he was at first met by her tired, smiling eyes, then in an instant they as watercolors shifted to remorse. She thought she could already feel his essence inside her, shooting upwards in the solid line between her breasts. Despite tinges of regret, the thrill of the theft resonated warmly in the cradle of her pelvis.

She laughed at her own madness, biting her lip; tears in her eyes, her nose running. "I saw myself in a dream do the same to BOB. It made him weak and me sick. But now I think BOB might have been telling me to do it. I shouldn't have done it to you. I'll give it back. I'll give it back," she assured him, balling the fabric of his shirt.

Harold, still recuperating, frightened, took her hand, aware of how shaken she was. He knew, somehow, that she believed a part of himself now existed in her. "It's yours. Keep it, Laura, as a gift."

"How can it be a gift when it was stolen?"

"It wasn't. It was already yours... I just couldn't find a way to give it to you."

"That," he gestured, to the air, something invisible between them, then to her core, "that belongs to you. Take it. In you I can leave. Stay with you outside these walls."

"To keep me safe?"

"To keep you company, a-and try to protect you."

"Someday I'll give it back. I promise," Laura said as she pulled herself together, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes and cheeks, leaving him. Mind unclouded, she stirred. "I've stayed too long, I have to go." She hurried past him and into the living room, pulling on her coat. Harold like a shadow followed and placed his hands on her back, over her arms, asking her - without avail - to stay.

While standing in the open door Laura's black coat made her a picture in the blinding light. She looked back on his apartment sadly. Before Harold could react she was beyond him, outside the fence, the station wagon gone.

* * *

~oOo~  
The Morning of February 24th  
o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

* * *

Harold awoke without cause. All was still. Not even the wind could be heard through the trees. As fear began with pulse, he realized a warmth hovered over him. "Laura...," he whispered her name to the shadows of his room, smoothing under his hand the blanket on his chest. "Laura." Subconsciously he hoped from the blackened corners she would manifest as the pools of darkness she insisted lived inside her.

Staring to the reaches of his room, Harold believed he saw Laura's outline stepping toward him and longed for her to end his unease, but the warmth above him soon dissolved into nothingness, along with her outline, and in a chill he knew she was gone. She was dead. All of her fear founded. A stab of pain erupted in a wave and quickly bled throughout him. New wounds incapable of healing were made to his head and heart.

He didn't think he could move, only to fold in on himself, to face sheets; his mouth and nose pressed to their patterns as he sobbed, incoherently weighting them with his sorrow.

The pain of losing Laura dived further as a stake, and suddenly he was by force prevented from taking air. In confusion, in sickness, he did nothing, only attempt to let stifle his heart, his tears.

Driven by an urging not his own his lips parted and he felt enter his lungs a shattering breath; that once inside was made to stop his mourning.  
Laura had come to kiss him goodbye.

* * *

~o~O~o~


End file.
